Christmas Carol
by Bri
Summary: A Mark character piece set on Christmas Eve. As his friends sing Christmas carols, he comes to terms with himself.


  
A/N: this piece was inspired by listening to the "you're a good man charlie brown" cast album one too many times. ;) hope you all like. my first actual mark fic... and it's actually finished! i know i have a penchant for abandoning fics--but hopefully, that's going to stop. i'm going to finish up 'Full Circle' and 'Shadowstalker' soon, i promise. :)  
  
DISCLAIMER: "he was never mine to lose"...er. mark was never mine (though i can dream.) he's the brainchild of jonathan larson, and subsequently someone else's property. don't look at me.  
  
  
"christmas carol"  
  
Long, thin fingers--"piano playin' fingers", my piano teacher told me two days before I quit in the sixth grade--frame the scene before me. Roger's arm snakes its way around Mimi proprietarily as she clutches the battered sheet music. Collins cocks his head to one side for a moment, listening intently, before jumping in with a harmonizing baritone, wavering slightly even as he falters on his feet. Maureen gives him a steadying arm as Joanne's alto joins the rich cacophony of music.  
  
"Joy to the world, the Lord is come..."  
  
Mimi raises an eyebrow at me, a wordless invitation for me to add in my unremarkable tenor. I shake my head no and heft my camera as explanation. This was their idea, singing traditional Christmas songs to celebrate our third year together as a "family".  
  
Or, as I tell myself, my third year on my own.  
  
It's funny, really. The wall of isolation I've spun is so fragile that any effort at all could tear it down. But no one has tried since Maureen.. let's not go into that.  
  
The diva in question is bopping and swaying along to the music, grinning widely. Joanne glances down at her lover and takes her hand almost mindlessly. Roger hugs Mimi more tightly as she gazes into his eyes, loving stares locked together.  
  
And Collins? Collins seems to have Angel by his side at all times, glancing over the philosophy professor's gaunt frame. He's weakening every day. It breaks my heart to watch him wither the way Angel did during her last week of life. However, I have no doubt that when the bell tolls for my friend, Angel will be waiting with open arms.  
  
"...let Earth receive her king!"  
  
Crossing the room so the snow-glare from the open window doesn't ruin the shot, I carefully insert a roll of film into my dinky old machine and turn it on. The whirring noise it exudes seems to power my heart along faster, energizing me through and through... until I watch Roger and Mimi share a feather-light kiss.  
  
Somehow, I manage a stronger smile, going down on one knee to zoom in on each face induvidually. Not couples--no, I'm not making this film to push myself over the edge. Teetering on this cliff is bad enough. Maybe worse.  
  
Grimly, I refuse to curb my masochistic urge and zoom in on Roger and Mimi for the entire next phrase.  
  
"Let every heart repent..."  
  
I realize I'm not even listening anymore, that I've switched over to autopilot. The words wash over me, the cheerful semantics threatening to develop into an undertow and pull me away and below. I need a breath of fresh air.  
  
As the first verse ends, I ask them to wait a minute, I'm going to open the window. As I slide the glass upwards, a flash of red catches my eye--a flame haired young woman turns her face to our apartment.   
  
Collins starts the song again, feebly, but growing stronger as the others jump in once more. The enigma below me turns her face to the music dancing from our window, pulling her frayed coat more tightly around her thin shoulders. With amazement, I realize she's really *listening* with the rapture of a devoted musician.  
  
I smile wistfully, reaching a hand up to adjust my glasses. Just like Charlie Brown and that little redheaded girl that he could never quite get the nerve to talk to, I know I'll probably never see her again. But her face burns itself onto my mind, that cute little upturned nose, a spray of freckles exploding across a dainty white face... I lean out the window to get a better look.  
  
Then her startled green eyes fly open. As I draw back hastily, she grins a mischievious smile, mouthing "Nice sound" with a chuckle. Tiny flurries of snowflakes catch in her glorious hair, on the ends of her eyelashes. I'm captivated.  
  
Roger has somehow snuck up behind me, in enough time to watch me fall hard for a girl I haven't even spoken to yet. I wave and whisper, "Thanks."   
  
Her grin is the heat that melts the barrier around my heart. As I watch with eager eyes, she laughs and dashes off, away from Avenue A. My heart sinks.  
  
But then she stops in front of a rundown building on Avenue B. She unlocks the door. And she turns to smile and wink, those red curls sprayed around her delicate face until she darts into the building.   
  
I'm still staring as Roger laughs at the dumbstruck look on my face. "Everyone loves a pretty redhead," he murmurs under the sounds of a new carol. Jingle Bells.   
  
But the only thing I hear as I turn to mock-conduct them with my glasses, as I resolve to perhaps make a visit to that building tomorrow, is the final line of the last song we sung.  
  
"Let heaven, let heaven and angels sing!"  
  
-finis-  



End file.
